


the rise and fall of harry styles

by bukowsking



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1970s AU, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Harry, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Femme Harry, Fluff, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Smut, Sugar Baby Harry, Top Louis, Unsafe Sex, harry is a groupie, louis is a roadie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-09 07:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17402603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukowsking/pseuds/bukowsking
Summary: biting back a wistful sigh, harry crossed his bare legs over one another, resting back against the dressing room couch as he languidly took drags from his cigarette, glitter-clad green eyes following the movements of a lava lamp rested on the coffee table. ziggy’s last show would be starting in less than five minutes, and harry could already hear the distant screams and fangirls and fanboys in the crowd. what never amazed harry about the men he followed, were the seemingly endless throngs of worshippers who also followed these artists. jagger, bowie, mercury. you name them, harry’s been with them.orharry is a groupie and louis is a roadie. they cross paths in 1973.





	1. sound and vision

**Author's Note:**

> i was not alive during the seventies, please excuse any historical/time inaccuracies. i own nothing but the storyline and the character of niall's girlfriend. long live the starman.
> 
> enjoy xx

when a younger harry styles envisioned his life at eighteen, it certainly didn’t include david bowie and one hundred micrograms of lsd backstage at the hammersmith odeon. the summer of ‘73 had been a sweltering one, the dog days not far from commencement. harry planned to end this summer season with a bang -- quite literally, mind you -- and a niggling feeling in his stomach told him tonight would be the night. david had been particularly flirtatious all night, not that that was out of the ordinary, but he tended to unintentionally favor mick over harry when the man decided to turn up. apparently it had been one of those nights, and mick had even brought lou -- reed, that is -- along as well. harry had overheard them planning to take david out for dinner after the show, seeing as this would be his final run as ziggy.

 

biting back a wistful sigh, harry crossed his bare legs over one another, resting back against the dressing room couch as he languidly took drags from his cigarette, glitter-clad green eyes following the movements of a lava lamp rested on the coffee table. ziggy’s last show would be starting in less than five minutes, and harry could already hear the distant screams and fangirls and fanboys in the crowd. what never amazed harry about the men he followed, were the seemingly endless throngs of worshippers who also followed these artists. jagger, bowie, mercury. you name them, harry’s been with them. 

 

growing up in the small village of holmes chapel never satisfied harry’s itch for the limelight, and so as soon as he’d obtained his diploma, he was on the first train to london, the center of all things ‘happening.’ being eighteen and inexperienced left him without the option of purchasing his own apartment in which he could enjoy his alone time, but alas, he came to tolerate his quirky roommates zayn and liam. 

 

liam payne was a stout man from wolverhampton, who began renting their little flat on the west end of london in soho shortly after graduating from college and scoring a job at his distant aunt’s bookstore-coffee shop hybrid. he stumbled upon zayn malik after zayn had ran away from his religiously devout home in bradford, seeking refuge in an area that wouldn’t be so stifling. since then, zayn had turned to the more punk part of london’s subculture, tattooing and piercing every available slice of bare skin on his body -- a stark contrast to liam’s mostly boy scout way of living.

 

harry was the last to join their little troupe nearly half a year later, but was welcomed with open arms nonetheless. it certainly helped that zayn grew the most potent weed harry had ever smoked, and liam offered the comic relief, acting as a human version of a breath of fresh air after walking the tobacco-ridden streets. 

 

there was nothing more harry would have wanted.

 

until he scratched an itch he never knew he had. it began with small, local acts that would perform at dive bars and hole-in-the-wall pubs. harry would charm them with his dimples and his smooth skin, and his sweet voice to boot. before he knew it, he’d moved on to slightly bigger acts, ones with recording contracts and managers and money enough to spoil a then-sixteen year old harry styles. love and affection came in the form of baggies of coke and expensive fur jackets, the obvious lack of any semblance of real love not lost on harry, even in his young age.

 

it didn’t take very long for harry to lose contact with his family. hundreds of purposely missed phone calls from his mother, anne, and unread letters from his older sister gemma piled on the coffee table in the shared living room of harry’s flat. even with liam’s unending encouragement, harry had no interest in speaking with them. their calls and letters were filled with nothing but judgement and scorn for the black sheep of their family, although gemma’s correspondence was that of a much more positive tone. in simple terms, if something did not benefit harry in some way, he did not participate in it. there was no looking back now.

 

*******************************************************

 

ziggy’s last run was something harry would forever have imprinted in his memories, the bits that weren’t clouded with drugs, that is. his lanky form wobbled as he watched from the wings, a taciturn smile on a red-smeared mouth. he desperately needed to invest in a new lipstick, the one freddie had purchased was clearly not doing the job anymore. 

 

the thunderous applause and cheering broke him from his trance as ziggy took a final bow, roses and glitter amassing upon the stage like fresh snow in the winter. the heels of harry’s boots clacked against the ground as david made his way over, the two men greeting each other in a warm embrace and a gentle peck of the lips. 

 

david then greeted each individual backstage in much the same manner.

 

harry understood he was far from david’s only lover, and far from his favorite. this notion was further proven when david wrapped his thin arm around mick’s waist and traipsed off to his dressing room, everyone knowing not to disturb them. it was an unspoken rule, amongst their little circle. a circle harry did his best to fit into, despite his age and naivety.

 

with a wistful sigh, he makes his departure, thrust back onto the sticky heat of the streets of london. maybe if he’s quick, he can retrieve his personal belongings from david’s london home before david and mick inevitably stumble their way through the front door in a haze of drunken lust. not that it’s something harry hasn’t witnessed before, christ, he’d even joined them in the bedroom more times than he could count. and maybe that was an issue.

 

maybe harry wanted someone he didn’t have to share.

 

*****************************************************

 

mail had piled up outside the crickety door of harry’s flat, mostly junk and coupons for shopping. the ash of his cigarette burnt the back of his hand as he unlocked the door and pushed inside, cursing and dropping his bags at his feet. a distant meow was heard, followed by the sound of tiny footsteps pattering against the rug and his cat, evie, came to greet her absent owner. although harry did come by to check on her quite often, she became the temporary responsibility of his roommates, seeing as he would go on the road for weeks at a time.

 

“hey there, little miss. did you behave for tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, hm?” his voice had a soft lilt to it, the tone only animals and easily persuaded men enjoyed. 

 

“i sincerely hope liam is tweedle-dum is this scenario.” zayn’s husky tenor was like music to harry’s ears, a wide smile spreading across his face as he all but jumped on the other man. although harry was close to liam as well, zayn was his sage voice of reason and his saving grace. and, liked, his weed really was  _ that  _ good.

 

“oh, zee, i don’t know how i survived without you.” harry’s words were accentuated with an overdramatic gasp, something straight out of a 40’s noir film. he then plopped himself right on zayn’s lap as they entered the living room, harry’s bags forgotten in the makeshift foyer. this is the moment liam decided to waltz in, brown eyes blowing comically wide as he took in the scene before him, greeting harry with a curt, “hello,” and sliding into his room before either zayn or harry could blink. 

 

a soft laugh filled the empty space, harry’s dimples popping with the sound as he shook his head. “i swear, if you two don’t get over it and fuck soon,  _ i’m  _ gonna fuck him for you.” 

 

this time it was zayn’s turn to blanche and stumble over his words. harry styles was never one for subtlety. 


	2. quicksand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quite a filler chapter, but important nonetheless. meet lizzie payne.
> 
> enjoy xx

the blaring of the alarm clock radio resonated throughout harry’s room, bouncing off the decorated walls and rearing its ugly head within his ear drums. not even the plush softness of his pillow thrown over his head could stop the offending sound. with a groan, harry’s manicured hand slid itself out from under the covers and found purchase on the ‘snooze’ button. his curls were matted to his forehead, skin still dotted with glitter from david and the stench of pot still permeating his sheets from last night’s rendezvous with zayn. but, now, it was time to fall back into the mundane routine of reality.

 

his arms stretched above his head in a satisfying stretch, the cracking of his spine causing a content moan to fall from his chapped lips. a knock sounded at the door, and his green eyes squinted against the light as liam stepped inside, rudely pushing back the curtains to reveal the morning sun. “oi, rent’s due, pony up.” the burlier man instructed, his nose scrunching up as he pulled the covers back. “you’re rank, mate. and wear some bloody clothes to bed every once in a while, will you?” with a roll of his eyes, liam left about as quickly as he came, purposely leaving the door hanging open a bit, to prevent harry from receding back into the comfort of his warm mattress.

 

with an indignant huff, harry pushes the sheets the rest of the way off, swinging his legs about and placing his feet flat on the floor. he then hangs his head and places it in his hands, in a desperate attempt to fight off the biting ache that develops between his brows. the pain never dissipates, and so he decides to finally make the trek out to the kitchen to fetch some paracetamol, ensuring to drape a thin, silky short robe over his nude form so that he doesn’t send liam into a tizzy. not that it’s anything liam hasn’t seen before, what with harry’s nudist tendencies. 

 

his feet glide along the rug covered floor, offering zayn and liam a terce little smile as he rummages through the medicine cabinet to find the antidote for his drug induced headache. liam raises an eyebrow and holds out the empty coffee can in which the trio stored their rent fund, harry responding with a roll of his eyes, swallowing the two tabs with a swig of the black coffee zayn had slid over to him, reaches into the pocket of his robe and all but flings the wad of cash into the tin. 

 

“thank you, bambi.” 

 

harry dignifies liam’s sentence with a huff and a raise of chin as he traipses back off into his bedroom, but not without first lifting the hem of his robe and giggling as liam choked on his coffee, getting an eyeful of harry’s pert bum.

 

**********************

 

little could have prepared harry for his return to the drudgery of his regular job at aunt lizzie’s bookstore down the street from his and the boys’ apartment. while liam and his aunt have never been the closest, due to a clearly dividing event that occured within liam’s extended family, harry had taken to the woman like a fish took to water. lizzie became an adoptive mother of sorts to the young lad, in the place of harry’s own estranged mother. as harry enters the store with his sunglasses perched on the top of his head and his brown faux leather jacket tugged onto his lithe form, lizzie greets him with a wry smile and a wave.

 

“long time no see, sugar. how’s the ever-stimulating life on the road, hm?” she questions, eyebrow raised high on her wrinkled forehead as she gets to making harry’s usual cup of tea. her acid washed overalls are pulled loosely over her non-bra clad chest, and harry takes a seat on the stool in front of the counter. he settles his angular chin in the palm of his hand, his own little grin dancing across his gloss covered mouth. 

 

“oh, you know, same shit, different tour. mediocre drugs and absolutely fabulous sex.” he replies with a cheeky little wink, accepting the mug of steaming tea with a grateful kiss blown in lizzie’s direction.

 

her response is a soft laugh and a fond roll of her eyes, which harry has the personal knowledge to decipher as her typical response of, “at least one of us is getting some,” to which he routinely replies with a snort and a bump to her hip as he takes his place behind the counter.

 

the fantastic thing about working for liam’s aunt is that she had a strict policy against uniforms in the workplace. as a rather free-spirited woman, lizzie payne was the result of a too-strict parentage and living in the shadow of her older, more successful sisters. in this way, harry was able to find a mirror of his own self. while his mother certainly babied him during his time with her, it was clear that she more approved of gemma’s scholarly accomplishments rather than what she called ‘harry’s rebellious phase, i’m sure he’ll get back on the right path soon.’ poor anne twist’s hair would turn white with the stories her son could tell her.

 

although lizzie’s store was a perfect image of the mundanity of london, today would be different. today would be the beginning of the fall of harry styles.

 

******************************************************

 

it’s not until near closing time that he receives the call. it wasn’t often that people were able to reach him at his place of work, considering he was an enigma on the move, and so it was a shock to the man when he picked up the phone and heard mick’s voice.

 

“ ‘arry, love, be a doll and join the boys and i on the road, will you? david’s awfully busy and it would be a shame to let all this… pent-up energy go to waste.”

 

harry’s breath exhales in a sharp laugh, leaning against the corkboarded wall with flyers and missing dog posters pinned to it. some of his own doodles take their home on this wall as well, along with zayn’s exquisite graffiti. perhaps one day the boy would come to his senses and try to make money with his talent. 

 

as he twirls the cord of the phone around his thin finger, harry smiles blithely and responds. “you know i will, darling. don’t forget, i only drink red wine.” his top teeth catch his bottom lip as he listens to mick inform him that they’ll send a car for him at the airport in austria the night before tour begins, and hangs up.

 

and thus, begins the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and criticisms are much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter was shit, but i hope at least some of you enjoyed it. comments are much appreciated. xx


End file.
